“Ray,” said Desmond. “Get away from there.”
“Sorry, Daddy. I’m fighting back this time.” Raymond stood defiant in the mist, his knives held out at either side as the swirling vapor pooled at his feet.
The children on the street reached the windows, but the fog was too thick to see their faces. It looked as if the diner had been plunged into a tank of cloudy water. Grace saw mangled, bloody hands pressed against the glass. Blood smeared as the broken, twisted fingers scratched at the windows. She saw a dog’s snout appear where one of the children’s heads should be.
The shadows of children crowded in front of the diner, but one tall man stood among them. He was impossibly thin, and his arms draped longer than seemed natural. His head shuddered, and Grace could hear the chatter of teeth as he approached. He stood in front of the broken door, but Raymond blocked his entrance. Green light burned behind the crowd, and their shadows danced on the walls.
“No,” said Raymond.
Grace felt her throat tighten as the mist began to fill the diner. It was cold and dry. When it brushed against her skin it felt like a bed sheet was covering her. She swiped at it, but it thickened and wrapped around her limbs. She glanced back at Juan, but didn’t see the cook through the divide.
“I won’t do it,” said Raymond as if conversing with the thin man in the mist, though Grace didn’t hear any response.
The thin man came closer, and his shoulders rose as his arms bent. She couldn’t see anything more than his silhouette, but knew he was threatening the boy. Raymond turned, tears in his eyes, and stared at his father.
“The Skeleton Man wants your eyes, Daddy.”
Desmond croaked, but Grace couldn’t see him. She was trapped behind the counter as the mist thickened around her. She tried to break free, but it constricted her from all angles. When she tried to speak, her voice was lost, just like Desmond’s.
Juan’s high pitched screams erupted from the back room. He never did lock the back door, and Grace listened to the sound of dogs growling as they tore him apart. She didn’t have to see to understand what was happening as the dogs fought over his flesh.
Raymond’s knives reflected the green, electric light as he knelt down, out of Grace’s view, to slaughter his father. She could see Raymond’s face, crying and whimpering, as he dug the knife in. Desmond’s legs twitched, but the fog held him down.
“I’m so sorry,” said Raymond over and over as the blood squirted from the incisions. He stood up and tried to wipe his brow clean on his arm, but just smeared the blood worse. He set his knives on the counter and walked around as Grace watched, helplessly restrained by the tendrils of mist.
Raymond glanced at her, but then looked away as if ashamed. He took a spoon from the silverware cup under the counter and then returned to his father. Grace didn’t understand what he was doing until she heard the grotesque sound of Raymond scooping his father’s eyes out of his skull. The wet sound was bad enough, but when the spoon collided with the back of Desmond’s eye socket it caused a scraping sound that sent reverberations of fear through Grace. She convulsed, her knees weakened, and she flopped into the mist as if passing out, but was still held aloft.
Raymond tossed two fleshy lumps into the mist and the Skeleton Man greedily bent to search the ground for them. The monster laughed as he retrieved the eyeballs, and his chattering teeth quickened their pace.
“Are we done here?” asked Raymond. His hands were shaking as he set the spoon on the counter, beside the two bloody knives.
Then the boy hung his head as his shoulders slunk. He turned, regretfully, and breathed deep when he looked up at Grace. “The Skeleton Man wants to ask you something.”
Grace couldn’t speak.
Raymond seemed to be apologizing by the way he looked at her, forlorn and saddened. “Do you dye your hair, or is that its real color?” He picked up the steak knife and walked around the counter.
16 Years Later
March 9th, 2012
“What the fuck did I do?” asked Paul.
“Just, don’t,” said Alma as she headed for the door. She held her hand up to keep Paul from touching her as she looked away from him. The sight of him sickened her.
“For Christ’s sake, Alma, two minutes ago you were all smiles. Now you’re treating me like a jerk. What’d I do?”
“More like who’d you do?” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She glared at him and then flipped him off. “Learn to flush the toilet, asshole.”
That helped him understand why she was angry. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes, and shook his head. “Fucking low pressure toilet.”
“Have a good life.” Alma opened the door.
Paul walked behind her and put his hand on the door to stop it from opening all the way. “Hold up, Alma. You don’t have the right to be mad at me for this.”
“Excuse me?” She was furious with him for trying to defend himself.
“You’re the one that walked out on me.”
“Yeah, and I’m about to do it again. Go ahead and call up your bar sluts. Tell them the party’s back on.” She forced the door open and a gust of cold air stung her eyes, drawing forth tears that had been threatening to come anyhow.
“Alma, what about your dad? Are you going home? Come on, babe, don’t be like this.” He walked onto the deck with her as she rushed to leave. “God damn it.”
She heard him go back inside and then come out again before shutting the door. He was barefoot and wore only a thin t-shirt, jeans, and no coat as he chased her into the gravel parking lot behind the tattoo parlor.
“What are you doing?” asked Alma. “Go back inside. I’m not going to talk to you anymore.”
“Fine,” he said from several steps behind. “I’m just going to follow you home to make sure your dad isn’t there.”
She stopped and glared at him in disapproval. “Oh sure, you’re going to ride your bike with no shoes on. Go back inside and stop being an idiot.”
“I’m not letting you go home alone.”
He stood ten feet away from her as they faced off in the lonely lot. The wind gusted again and she saw him shudder, looking pathetic as he stood in the sharp gravel, arms crossed over his thin shirt.
“Stop it, Paul. You’re being ridiculous. You can’t ride your bike without shoes on, let alone without a coat or helmet. You’re going to get pulled over.”
He shrugged.
“Stop it.”
“I’m not letting you go home alone.”
She groaned. “Fine. Go get some shoes on at least.”
“You promise to wait for me?”
“Yes, for crying out loud, you giant dork. I’ll wait.”
“Give me your keys.”
“What?” asked Alma.
“Give me your keys so I know you won’t take off before I get back.”
“Paul, just go get some damn shoes on. There’s broken glass all over out here.”
“Okay, fine, just give me your keys first.” He took a step towards her with his hand outstretched.
She glanced at the shards of glass mixed in with the gravel between them. She walked to Paul so he didn’t have to cross it. She slammed her keys into his hand. “Hurry up. It’s cold out here.”
He lifted the keys and tapped the teddy bear keychain. “Glad to see you kept him.”
“Only because I’m too lazy to take him off the chain.”
Paul grinned. “Liar.”
“Whatever. Hurry up.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the side of her car. She wasn’t wearing a coat and shivered in the chilly night air.